


Spiderwitch

by Phenomenon



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, mythological lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phenomenon/pseuds/Phenomenon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The villagers of Prospit all know how to follow one rule better than any other:  you do not under any circumstances speak with the Spiderwitch or any associates of the Spiderwitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spiderwitch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 3 of the Homestuck Shipping World Cup, but not chosen to represent our team. The prompt was "taboo." Please note that the setting was not based on any real colony or village that exists or has existed; it was meant to be more of the idea of what a generic colonial setting would be.

Just a few more steps up this hill and John would have the perfect view of his home village.  With each step, he braced himself for a drastic change, or even a miniscule change, that might have taken place in the time he was gone.  Just like every other time he’d returned home, he found no such thing.  There was the same old quaint and neatly arranged homes and businesses inhabited by the same old villagers following the same old schedules.  It could stay that way possibly indefinitely if he decided to just stay here and admire it from afar.  His journey, however, had been entirely too long for him to simply stop right before he reached his destination.  With that thought in mind, he began his descent into the little village of Prospit’s main entrance, where he would not only witness the changes take place among the villagers, but be its catalyst.

First, it would be a nervous glance or prolonged stare, then deliberate shuffling out of his path, pulling the children close and out of sight, locking the doors and closing the curtains, until the streets were so deserted that it felt as if John was the only one there.  The one exception to this “oh no he’s back” group-thought was waiting for him down the road.  Casey, now around nine years old, was only a toddler when he left the first time, and when he returned she took to following him everywhere he went.  She must’ve noticed the silent ruckus and tried to find him.  As John got closer, she smiled brightly and held out her hand, which he immediately took, and together they walked down the old familiar path leading to the edge of the village.

“Still not afraid of my presence, eh Casey?” John inquired, grinning down at the girl half his size.

She shook her head vigorously.  “S’nothing to be afraid of!” she piped up.  “I dunno why everybody wants to run away when you show up.  All you do is walk around and talk to Spider Lady.”

“Why, Casey!” John said in his fakest shocked voice, “I thought people in Prospit were never to speak of the Spiderwitch!”

Casey giggled before sticking her tongue out at him.  “Quit foolin, John!  You know she’s not a spider witch.  And nothin bad ever happens when I talk about her. See, look.”  Seeking to demonstrate her point, she took a deep breath, and on the exhale she chanted “spiderladyspiderladyspiderlady” as many times as her little lungs would allow.  

About five seconds in, John clutched his heart dramatically and staggered around.  “Oh no, stop Casey stop!  I’m being cursed!”  She simply giggled again and let go of his hand to skip around him until he had his miraculous recovery and they could continue walking.  As she reclaimed his hand, she gave a small shrug.  “I wanna call her by her real name, but she won’t tell me.  Keeps saying it’s a secret.”

Ah, that did sound like something she would say.  “I  tell you what:  if you’re on your best behavior the next time I come back, I’ll tell you what her name is.  Sound like a deal?”

“Yeah!” Casey quickly agreed.  The last leg of the path was traveled in relative silence.  Once they reached the windowless hut that marked their final destination, John felt his arm get yanked down hard, effectively bringing him down to Casey’s level.  “Can I go inside with you just this one time, pleeeease?  I promise I’ll be good and quiet!”

John chuckled and ruffled the girl’s hair.  “Aw, I don’t think you really wanna bear witness to a couple of grownups talking about lame old-timey stuff.”

“It’s not lame!” Casey rebutted, her eyes pleading.  “And you’re not that old!  Come on, pretty pretty please?”

“Not this time Casey; I’m sorry.”

“Aww...”  Crestfallen, she lowered her head in defeat.  John always had to steel his heart whenever she did that in order to stop himself from scooping her up and giving her everything she asked for.  A compromise, however, couldn’t hurt.

“How about you meet me when I’m done here and I give you something nice as a treat?”

Casey’s eyes lit up.  “Candy...?” she inquired.

“Sure, if candy’s what you want.”

“Yay!”  Simple as that, her spirits were lifted again.  She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before skipping back towards the main part of the village.  He watched her until she disappeared out of his line of vision before turning to the hut again.  The facade was menacing enough to keep curious passersby away, but for John it was one of the few remaining parts of Prospit that looked or felt like home anymore.  Approaching the door without knocking, he waited for his inevitable invitation inside.

“Well well well, look who finally dragged himself back to my doorstep!” came the drawling voice from within.  She sounded exactly the same even after all these years.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long,” he answered.

There was a brief pause.  “You haven’t yet, but if you keep dawdling and don’t get in here right now you might be pushing it!”

That’s his cue.  Reaching out for the door handle, he opened the door, slowly letting in the daylight amongst the several dozen candles adorning the interior.  Both side walls were lined completely with trinkets, unfamiliar plants and herbs, and all sorts of arachnid-themed items.  Along the back wall was a small table with two chairs, one of which was occupied by the person he’d come all this way to see.  She was smiling earnestly, staring as if she were trying to re-memorize all the different parts of him.

“Hey Vriska!” John greeted her as if it’d been a few days instead of a few years.

“Don’t you know I’m going by ‘Spiderwitch’ these days?” she retorted, motioning for him to sit.  There was tea made for two set on the table.  Naturally she’d been expecting him, despite him never writing or sending a messenger.  Perhaps it really was due to forces like magic that were beyond their comprehension, but John knew if he tried to ask, she would simply tell him that she was just lucky like that.

“Right, the dreaded Spiderwitch, I forgot,” he said as he took a seat, “who does nothing but mind her own business and sell weird things to gypsies and other travelers.”

“Sure, sure,” she agreed half-heartedly, “But you forgot the part where I cursed you when we were seven, killed my mother, hypnotized all of our friends, then made you my evil henchman and sent you on a secret evil mission while you have the cover of working for the king.  There was also the various dead crops, natural disasters, ill children--”

“Okay okay, I get it,” he stopped her before she got too carried away.  “That dumb thing that happened when we were kids?  They still blame you for that?”

“John, they blame me for everything that goes wrong, and they have been ever since that thing when we were kids.  That’s what a witch really is.  It has nothing to do with any magic or voodoo bullshit.  A witch is just a person you can blame for all the problems that are beyond your control.”

John fell silent, taking a long drink of his tea.  She was right.  They’d started treating her differently right after John’s brush with death when they were seven.  Even after it was proven that she had nothing to do with it, they still gave her cold stares and sidelong glances in the street.  It only got worse when the strange happenstances started going on around him, so much so that while the royal messengers that came to visit were calling him “divinely chosen”, his neighbors were muttering “witch” under their breaths.  The next day, he was on the road to the royal capital, and in the seven years he’s been gone, he’d only come back to visit twice.  The villagers wasted no time in pretending he didn’t exist, but it was apparently much worse for Vriska.

“Not to worry, though,” she continued after a while, “Soon all of this witch business will be over and done with!”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that something--I’m not sure what--was the last straw.  Proof or no proof, they’re done humoring their Spiderwitch.”  Vriska’s smile was unfaltering.  “You know what that means, don’t you?”

John slowly set his cup down, the blood draining from his face.

“Yeah, it looks like you get the picture!  They’re gonna string me up, make me their human-sized wind chime.”  She made the motion of being hung around the neck.

“They can’t,” John said, restraining the anger in his voice.

Vriska laughed and shook her head.  “That might’ve helped me in the past, but it’s worthless now.  The squeaky clean, law-abiding village of Prospit is willing to make one little exception to get their witch’s blood.”

“...I could--”

“But enough about me,” Vriska smoothly interrupted as she refilled his cup.  “Tell me about your journey.  Feeling any more godlike?”

He held eye contact with her.  She seemed resolute, but in what, exactly?  Marching compliantly to her death?  He would go along with the subject change for now, but this was not over by a long shot.

“Not really, no,” John answered, “But I’m not worried about it.  My mentors tell me that the process of inheriting my powers isn’t a gradual one.  They say that usually it happens in a split second; one moment I’m a mostly ordinary guy, and the next...”  He shrugged.  “The next, I’m a guy that can do windy things.  So my journey has been a whole lot of wandering from village to village, delivering messages and helping out in whatever way the king wants me to, and just waiting for that moment to happen.”

“And after it happens, what then?  What will you be expected to do?”

“At that point they say I’ll need to listen to the whispers of the wind.  They’ll guide me to my purpose.  They might tell me to do exactly as I have been doing.  They might tell me to become an apprentice, or take on an apprentice.  They might direct me to a specific place.  The possibilities are endless.”

“...I see.” Vriska commented simply.  Silence began to settle between them again, but before it reached the point of awkwardness, John set his cup down and met her eyes.

“You know, I don’t think anyone would have a problem if I brought an extra person back with me,” he tried to say as casually as he could.

“I’m not running away.” she replied shortly.

“What are you doing then?  Letting them take you away and kill you?  Gonna fight off an entire village?”

“None of the above.”

“Well, if you have a plan, I’d love for you to enlighten me, Vriska.”

“Then listen up!”  She’d gotten out of her seat, staring down at him.  Her calm demeanor slowly morphed into an ominous smile.  “How lucky are you feeling, John?”

“Vriska--”

“No, listen to me!” she snapped.  “You have your ways of doing things, the ways you are obligated to do things, and I have mine.  So you’re going to have to trust me when I say that I’ve got this covered.”

John sighed heavily.  This wasn’t the first time he’d heard this from Vriska, but every time she said it, it made him increasingly more uneasy.  It was this so-called “luck”, after all, that got her all of this grief.  “Have it your way...but I’m not leaving until I see this all the way through.”

“Suuuuuuuure, hero boy, if that’s what helps you sleep tonight.”

The rest of their conversation devolved into small talk about everything and nothing in particular.  After they’d run out of topics to bring up, John headed out, promising to return tomorrow.  At the end of the path waiting for him loyally was Casey.  Leave it to her to not forget the promise of confections.  He made good on his word with two handfuls of treats for the girl before sending her on her way.  That left him with no more business in town, so he decided to head to his lodging in the neighboring village.  He would have gladly looked for a vacant inn here, if he weren’t so sure that none of the innkeepers would give him the time of day.  Good thing he was getting used to frivolous travel.  Not wasting any time, he headed in the direction of that pesky hill...

***

John’s mind was too riddled with worry for him to get anything closely resembling proper sleep.  Oh a whim, he pulled himself out of bed and wandered out into the quiet streets of the sleeping villagers.  Later, he would be thankful to that whim, for if it had come any later in the night, he would have very easily missed the slight murmur of a crowd, the strange light emanating from beyond the hill.  Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, John quickly climbed up to the highest vantage point the hill could give him.  The sight below was a chaotic, nightmarish mess, to say the least.  Most of the people causing the ruckus were slowly forming a mob that looked to be headed toward the town square.  Many of them were carrying torches, but those tiny flames could not possibly account for the eerie glowing he witnessed from the other side of the hill.  The true explanation, however, was easily located.  

In the corner of the village, engulfed in flames, was what used to be Vriska’s hut.

Before John knew it, he was running full-speed, nearly tripping over himself to join the mob and find Vriska.  Her prediction was coming true just as he dreaded, and much sooner than he’d thought imaginable.  He was sure that she was not a victim of the fire; when it came to witch hunts, the more people that actually see the death, the better.  This was how he knew before even being able to see the square that there was a gallows set up there with her name on it, once again exactly as she predicted.  The plan that John was attempting to formulate while the adrenaline was keeping him alert was essentially to not get that far.  He hoped to find Vriska before the mob reached the square and get her out of here, kicking and screaming if need be, so they could both put this place in the past where it belonged.  Said plan was getting less and less likely to succeed as the crowd jostled and carried him away in the current of people steadily marching forward.  The torchlight did nothing to help him identify which dark faceless blob was containing or hiding Vriska.  “Unlikely” soon gave way to “impossible” as John found himself face-to-face with the hastily thrown together gallows...and on its platform stood a bedraggled and stone-faced would-be witch.

“Have ye any last words?” the villager holding the rope growled at her.  She stared blankly back at him, her cold gaze seeming to look straight through him...and then she turned her face towards the crowd and looked at John.  Amidst the sea of angry scowling faces, she managed to meet the eyes of the one person frowning in fear.  Amidst the cries for blood and death, he managed to hear her softly utter two words, clear as day:

“It’s time.”

It was not immediately apparent to him what that was supposed to mean, but despite that, those two words emitted a feeling within him so strong that it took his breath away.  The feeling was growing, spreading through all of his limbs, lifting him off of the ground.  He could not check if his feet were truly airborne even if he wanted because his vision was filling with light, beautiful, warm light, making him float even higher, making him understand what was all so confusing before.

He was air.  He was wind.  He was breath.  He was moving in and around the havoc of the crowd and he was moving in and around Vriska, whose stony demeanor finally softened.  She looked at the captors flanking her on either side with a haughty smirk.  “Finally,” she sighed, rolling her shoulders back.  A moment later, the most beautiful set of wings sprouted from behind her.

Her nearest captors nearly jumped out of their skin in shock and awe.  John used that opportunity to float nearer to her, nearer to the newly-revealed liberations, and together they escaped into the air and the sky above while the world below sank into panic.

“How does the Spiderwitch possess wings of the Light goddess?  Were her powers divine?”

“Of course not!  This is more heresy!”

“But it must be true!  She can actually fly with them!”

“Don’t fall victim to her lies!”  
“Skaia help us all...”

As the two of them rose higher into the air, Vriska spat out one last final “Fools!” at them before turning her vision skyward.  She was divine Light and he was divine Breath, and together they were free.

***

“So, your divine purpose...”

“...was to help awaken your power, yes.”

“How long have you had this purpose?”

“Several years.”

“And how long have you been awakened?”

“About twice as long.”

“I see...so what will you do now?”

“The same thing that you will be doing.  Waiting to be given my next purpose.  That is, unless you’ve discovered it already.”

“I don’t think I have yet, no.”

“It doesn’t always happen right away.”

“If that’s the case, then would you mind if...”

“Yes?”

“...if we waited for our purposes together?  Just like old times?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”


End file.
